


To The Departed

by Rapis_Razuri



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Family, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sylcedes Week (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapis_Razuri/pseuds/Rapis_Razuri
Summary: It was too late for Miklan, for Emile, but maybe something could be done so their tragedies wouldn’t be repeated by someone else down the line.After Fort Merceus is taken, Mercedes mourns while Sylvain makes plans for the future.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Sylcedes Week 2020





	To The Departed

**Author's Note:**

> Sylcedes Week 2020: Day 4 - Duty
> 
> .
> 
> I'm sure this plot bunny has already been done to death with this ship? Well, here's my take on it.

The first thing he did upon their return to Garreg Mach was to check in with and speak to his father’s men. No one could accuse him of shrinking his responsibilities as the heir of House Gautier, but no one who knew him would be surprised that the matter actually on the forefront of his mind was, in fact, a woman. 

Sylvain disengaged himself from the soldiers as soon as he was able. With His Highness off interrogating the man his father had sent to the monastery, he couldn’t see any war councils happening today. The rest of the day was his as far as he was concerned. 

There were still many devout in the cathedral, many of them pretty clerics decked out in their simple-yet-elegant bishop attires, but for once his eyes did not linger. There was only one devout he was interested in today and he spotted her sitting in one of the back row pews, half hidden in the shadow of a nearby candelabrum. It wasn’t surprising that she was avoiding crowds at the moment. Five years ago, he had been the same way when Miklan…

Thoughts of his brother made him run his hand through his hair in agitation. What was he thinking? Mercie loved Emile. Finding out what had become of him changed nothing. Finding out he was the enemy changed nothing. Whereas he and Miklan…. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same at all. 

But he was already here.

And he  _ promised.  _

“Hey,” Sylvain said just loudly enough to be heard. “Mind if I sit here?”

She looked up—No tears, but no sign of that gentle smile he had come to love either—and she shook her head. He sat down an appropriate distance away, for once not knowing what to say. His usual tactic of flowery words and empty flattery were of no use here. What  _ do  _ you say to a woman whose heart had just been broken, not by a lover but by family? 

He had not been present when the Death Knight had been defeated—and never in a million years would he admit to anyone that he’d been worried sick about Mercedes during the whole battle—but he did catch a glimpse of her face when he saw Annette comforting her after the carnage.

Sylvain really did hate seeing girls cry. 

She wasn’t crying now though. Instead her expression was pensive, her gaze far-away and unfocused as she fiddled with a piece of paper in her hand; a letter, by the looks of it. From her adoptive father about another marriage proposal? He felt a twinge of annoyance at this. By the goddess. Was that man  _ ever _ going to stop?

While he silently fumed about this, Mercedes noticed that he noticed and she handed it to him without asking. “I don’t mind if you read it,” she said. “It’s from Emile.”

_ Well, okay…  _

He certainly felt pretty stupid now. Choosing not to dwell too much on why he had assumed what he had assumed, Sylvain gingerly took it from her and opened it. It wasn’t a long letter. Very straight to the point in explaining why Emile had stayed instead of running with his mother and half-sister. It confirmed the rumors of who had been responsible for the massacre of the House afterwards and why.

Reading between the lines, Sylvain could see how the sweet little boy Mercedes spoke of with such fondness could come to be known as the Death Knight, but the lines themselves only increased his disgust for Baron Bartels with every word.  _ His own stepdaughter? Really? _

Once he was done—and once he let his anger towards a man who was already long dead cool—he folded up the letter again and gave it back to her. At least now he had a better idea of what to say. “I am so sorry things turned out like this.”  _ Miklan…  _ His older brother had been a piece of trash, certainly, but was there any point in their lives where they could have turned things around if only one of them were able to turn the other cheek and let their resentments go?

Probably never, but that was different. The part of him that refused to be a cynic had wanted things to work out between Mercedes and her brother. If the Kingdom Army had managed to capture the Death Knight alive, surely Dimitri would have allowed him to be spared if Mercedes had asked? Of course, the man still had a creepy fixation on killing the professor. Sylvain was not unaware of potential complications, but if there  _ had  _ been another way, he would have wanted it because of how much it would mean to Mercedes. 

“I always wondered how Emile could do something so terrible,” Mercedes replied softly. “He was just protecting me. Even afterwards. He refused to join us when I asked because he didn’t want to hurt me.”

Sylvain reached out and took her hand. Hers was a hand that healed. How easy it was to wound another in this broken world. It made the ability to heal—heart and body alike—all the more valuable. “One day when the war is over, we’ll find the place where he is buried and you will be able to honor him properly.” Not the Reaper that terrorized the monastery five years ago or an Imperial general, but the boy who loved cats and sweets and did the unthinkable to protect his big sister. “Flowers. Alcohol. The works.”

“Emile liked roses best,” Mercedes said quietly. “House Bartels had a garden the three of us tended together.”

“Roses,” Sylvain repeated. Gardening had never been his thing, but he found himself thinking of Gautier territory and how a place so up north was not an environment suited for growing flowers. “I’ll ask Dedue if he could set aside a portion of the greenhouse to grow some if you like.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

She slid a little closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. It made him strangely happy. Getting to spend time with a woman who liked him for himself (and vice versa) and just enjoying each other’s company, without needing the pretenses… It was nice. 

“You know what I think?” he asked.

She moved her head slightly. “What  _ do  _ you think?”

“I think… that it’s time for Fódlan to reevaluate the value of Crests. Maybe not right away, but this war has changed so much already. Why not the way people think about Crests too?” He grinned, rakish and charming and irresistible. “Will you help me?” It was too late for Miklan, for Emile, but maybe something could be done so that their tragedies wouldn’t be repeated by someone else down the line.

He felt her soft hand close around his. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Sylvain,” she said. “Of course I will help.”

And that was what they owed to the departed.


End file.
